Goodbye Means Nothing At All
by GhostieWinchester
Summary: After Dean's death, Sam carried on hunting.  His thirst for the hunt leads him back to Stanford where three students have been killed in the past two months.    Sam is already at his breaking point.  Will what awaits him push him over the edge?
1. It's Not Always Rainbows And Butterflies

_It's Not Always Rainbows And Butterflies_

_I was running.__  
><em>_Running through darkness.__  
><em>_Running from __him__.__  
><em>_My biggest fear.__  
><em>_The only thing I had left to fear._

_I ran through a dense forest, so dense that no light pierced through the leaves up ahead. It was as if it were night. The brambles on the forest floor pulled at the legs of my jeans; the tree branches scratched against my face, leaving shallow gashes where they lashed me, causing streams of blood to trickle down my face. They wanted to keep me here in the darkness. I struggled through them, my legs weak, my feet heavy._

Did I lose him?

_My mind frantically asked. My eyes darted from side to side, looking for the dark figure that had been pursuing me only moments before. I didn't see him, but I didn't dare look back. I pushed on as best as I could, trying to find a way out; a way to safety._

_And then I saw it: A break in the dense covering of forest. A small sliver of light shone between the trunks of two trees about a mile ahead of me. Relief flooded my veins and somehow my legs found the will to move a little faster, and a little more carelessly._

Once I'm in the light, he can't touch me.

_I reasurred myself. My heart soared with hope and in my relief I lost all caution; my left foot caught on a large tangle of underbrush and I pitched forward. I threw my arms out to catch myself, but I was off-center and most of my weight landed on my right arm. I heard a dull thud followed by a loud __crack__ which emanated from my forearm. I rolled onto my left side, cradling my right arm with my left as a sharp pain rippled from my wrist to my elbow. I opened my mouth to cry out in shock and pain, but no noise came out._

_In fact, since my arm had broken, I hadn't heard any noise but the creaking of the tree branches above. Not the rustle of the dry leaves beneath me as I shifted my weight, or the soft rubbing of my clothes against my skin, or even my own breath coming in and going out. I didn't even hear the footsteps of my pursuer._

_I lay on the ground in shock and pain. I felt the terror building inside me. __Where is he? He wouldn't stop. Not with me laying here like this.__ My mind whirled as the adrenaline pumped through my veins, making my blood burn as it pumped through my prone body._

_Suddenly, I heard the snap of a twig to my right. I turned my head abruptly toward the sound and I felt my lungs tighten in fear. I could feel my eyes bulge as they focused on the figure of a man. The man who had been hounding me all this time. He stood in the darkness no more than three feet away from where I lay._

_In a frenzy, I rolled onto my stomach and attempted to crawl away from him. But pain rippled once again up and down my broken forearm and I only managed to emit a noiseless howl before collapsing face-down in the dirt and brush._

_I heard a chuckle come from where the figure stood, and then a __whoosh__ of air, like a large breeze had suddenly swept through the forest. I lay still, wishing, without much hope, that he had taken pity on me and decided to leave._

_Another __whoosh__ broke through the silence less than thirty seconds later. Suddenly there was a pair of hands underneath me, turning me, flipping me over and onto my back. I struggled against them fruitlessly._

_"Hiya, Sammy." A deep, laughing voice breathed._

_From my position on my back, I was forced to look into the face of the man before me. His horrible, terrifying face. It had once been so familiar. So full of life. It had once been a welcome sight._

_But now his scalp hung loose, peeled backward from his hairline to the nape of his neck; what was left of his short brown hair was stained red from all the blood. His once loving face was covered in scabbed over burns, as if someone had burned him, let it heal, and then burned the same place again. Who knew how many times each patch of skin had been afflicted?_

_But the worst were his eyes. The eyes of a man who once cared about saving this world more than his own life were glazed over with incomparable pain, suffering, hate, and lust for revenge._

_This horibble man squatted next to me now. A cruel smile showed from between his heat-chapped lips. Enjoying this chance to make me suffer for what I did to him._

My brother.

_"You don't know how much I've dreamt of this moment." He rose slowly, methodically straightening his trunk, then his limbs. "Thinking about all the ways I could return the favor to you. For letting me go to Hell." He bent at the waist to stare down into my eyes and the intense smell of sulfur mixed with blood filled my nostrils. I began to gag silently. "Yes, Sam. __YOU__ sent me to Hell. __YOU__ are the reason I am this way." He spread his arms out wide, his voice rising and filling the air around me. I began to choke, as if his words were poisonous fumes. "I let myself get dragged into the pit __FOR YOU__. And what have you done to help me? Nothing! __NOTHING__!"_

_He was hysteric, waving his arms above his head, his eyes bulging from their sockets, the veins in his neck protruding underneath scarred skin. The more he screamed, the thicker the fumes became._

_I squirmed on the ground, kicking and writhing as my lungs began filling with the thick fumes. My good hand reached up to claw at my quickly closing throat._

_"I didn't deserve this, Sam! Any of it! It was you! It was always supposed to be you!"_

_I felt the life exiting my body with every word he screamed..._

You, Sam. It was supposed to be you...

"Dean no!" I bolted straight up in bed, panting. My limbs were slick with sweat, as were the sheets I had been sleeping on. I placed one hand on my chest as if to assure myself this was real. My heart hammered through my ribcage. I sat still, willing my breathing to go back to normal.

_A dream. Just a dream._ I ran a hand through my shaggy brown hair, only to find that that was drenched through with sweat as well. _Jesus Christ._

As my heart returned to normal speed, I looked slowly around the darkened room. It was the same cheap, two room apartment it had been before I had laid down to sleep the night before. No trees. No brush. And, most importantly, no homicidal, hellish Dean.

I bowed my head and clasped my hands behind my neck, focusing on my breath. _You're losing it, Sam._I told myself.

It was the truth, actually. This wasn't the first time I had dreamt of Dean since that night that the hellhounds had come to drag his soul away. In fact, I'd dreamt of him almost every night. Of the pain he was enduring. The torture. And most of all, I dreamt about the fact that it was all my fault.

I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. My feet found the floor, but I wasn't quite ready to get up yet. I glanced at the small bed-side table that housed nothing more than a small lamp and my phone. I reached out and pushed a botton on my phone's keypad, illuminating the screen.

_3:27 A.M._

I tapped the lampshade once, causing the lamp to emit a soft glow into the room. I sighed and stood up, walking out of my bedroom and down the narrow hallway, slowly making my way to the closet-sized bathroom at the end.

As I walked past the doorway wich opened into the half-kitchen/office, I caught movement out of the side of my eye. My heart stopped, dropped, and then started up again, pounding with adrenaline. I pushed myself against the wall next to the doorway and swallowed hard.

"Who's there?" I called out.

No answer.

Gulping down bile, I jumped through the doorway, balling my hands into fists, preparing myself for some form of hand-to-hand combat with an intruder. But there was no one there.

I cautiously flicked the wall switch, turning on the over-head lights. There was no one in my apartment. The movement I had registered was the oscillating fan I had turned on before heading to bed.

"I'm getting way too paranoid." I muttered, flicking the light off and returning to the hallway.

Once in the bathroom, I turned on the light and took a good look at myself in the mirror.

My brown eyes now had huge, purple, bruise-like bags under them. My hair was so drenched with sweat, it looked as though I had just taken a shower. And the whites of my eyes were almost completely red from lack of sleep. I sighed, letting my head drop down and loll over the sink.

_I really need to get some sleep._

"Yeah right." I muttered to myself. As if. Even if I WAS tired, which I wasn't, I'd just have the same dream over... Or possibly a worse one.

_Screw that._Instead, I stripped off the light shorts I had worn to bed and stepped into the small, glass-enclosed walk-in shower. I shut the door behind me and turned the cold water on full blast, revelling in the shocking sensation it left when it hit my sweaty, too-warm skin. I grabbed my shampoo off the wall shelf and emptied a large blob into my hand, working it into my scalp. I scrubbed down the rest of my body, ridding myself of the sweat and, with it, the horrible feeling of the previous nightmare.

Stepping out of the shower and grabbing my towel, I stepped out into the hallway and headed back to the bathroom, drying myself as I went. I wrapped the towel loosely around my waist and walked to my small chest of drawers, reaching into the bottom most one for a pair of jeans. I tossed them on the bed and straightened, pulling out the top drawer and retrieving a pair of socks and boxer shorts. I pulled on the boxers and proceeded to lose the towel. Next came the socks and the jeans. Finally, I padded to my closet and pulled out the first shirt my hand came into contact with. I pulled it over my ead as I walked back to my bed.

Flopping onto the bed on my stomach, I reached underneath it and felt along the floor until I felt the smooth plastic of my laptop. I pulled it up and onto the bed, sitting up as I did. I flipped it open and clicked up my internet browser.

_I need to find a job. And soon._

The more I sat around and thought about Dean, the worse it affected me. I needed to find something, _anything_to hunt.

I typed furiously away, searching for murders, suicides, cow mutilations, anything that could yield a hunt. I scrolled quickly down the list of items, not finding anything that seemed out of the ordinary.

Until I reached the third page of results and the words STANFORD UNIVERSITY appeared in front of my eyes. My heart picked up again, and I eagerly clicked the link, hungrily reading the words before my eyes:

"_June 13, 2008__**  
><strong>__-STANFORD UNIVERSITY__**  
><strong>__Today marks the date of the third murdered student in two months here at Stanford. This victim, like the other five, was reported beaten to death and then hung in a common area. Police believe that these young men are all being chosen as examples for a purpose, but are unsure of what that purpose may be. The candle-light vigil for this man will be held on Sunday, June 15th, at 9P.M. in front of the common hall. No further details were released at this time._"

_Stanford._I hadn't been there in years. Not since Jessica's death.

_Jessica..._

"It has to be a sign." I breathed, snapping the laptop shut without giving it a further thought. "I have to work this case."

I jumped up and crossed to my closet, pulling out my empty backpack and duffel where I kept my hunting supplies. I shoved my laptop into the bottom of the backpack and crossed to my dresser, shoving jeans, t-shirts, and under-garments into the bag. I zipped it closed and set it on the bed.

I then turned to the duffel. Opening it, I checked my supply of false I.D.s, salt, and shells. _More than enough._I pulled out my pistol and cocked it. It responded immediately. I replaced it and pulled out my sawed-off. I pumped it and it issued a satisfying click. I half-grinned. I'd missed that noise.

Satisfied that I was prepared, I slung the duffel over my right shoulder and my backpack over my left. I snatched my phone from the bed-side table and turned out the light. Walking through the hallway and into the kitchen area, I snagged my keys from thier hook on the wall. After fastening the lock, I took one look back into the small, dank, dreary apartment before stepping out into the fresh, early morning air. I closed the door behind me, and it was as if a weight had lifted from my chest.

_Stanford, here I come._


	2. I Drove For Miles And Miles

_I had always meant to get away from hunting.__  
><em>_That had been the whole point of going to law school.__  
><em>_To get away from dad.__  
><em>_From life on the road.__  
><em>_From the constant evil and death that surrounded me...__  
><em>_Not that evil and death __EVER__ stopped surrounding me.__  
><em>_I just hadn't taken the time to notice.__  
><em>_I had been able to push it to the side and focus on being a normal college student. Working a normal job.__  
><em>_Living in a normal apartment.__  
><em>_Living contentedly with my normal girlfriend._

_

I roared down the road with one hand gripping the Impala's vinyl steering wheel. I clung to it as if it were a life force, keeping me safe and steady in this world. Away from the world of my dreams. The world where I was forced to face my brother. The brother I had tried so hard to save. Tried so hard to trade places with...

I gritted my teeth and glared out the windshield, letting my gaze wander to the left. I counted the white dashes on the asphalt as they flew by _one, two, three..._, trying to calm myself. Bring myself back to reality. I felt calm when focusing on something so simple.

But the calm only lasted so long. Because as I watched and counted the lines on the road, my mind began to wander to other things. I began to think of how much closer I was getting Palo Alto. To Stanford. To where Jessica used to be. And the anxiety washed over me in a large, heavy wave, accompanied by a deep ache somewhere in my heart. And a small whisper somewhere in my head.

_She's gone, Sam. And it's all your fault. You couldn't have done anything for Dean. But Jessica... You knew, Sam. You knew all about it and said nothing._

I felt tears spring to my eyes and I shook my head, trying to will the thoughts away.

_You dreamt all about it, Sam. You saw her. You knew. Was it that important to be normal, Sam?_ The voice persisted, and I was sure I recognized the voice that was speaking. Suddenly, I was overcome with the urge to run. To get away from whatever, whoever was saying these horrible things.

_Look at you. On some crazy goody-goody crusade. Going back to Stanford. Making a martyr out of yourself. It's cute, Sam. Real cute. But it's pointless. You know as well as I do that there's not a speck of natural good in your body. You're pure evil. Just like I wanted you to be._ In my mind, an image of a pair of large, yellow eyes appeared. The pupils stood out, round and bulging from the brilliant golden centers. Full of hate and malice. I knew those eyes. As the picture intensified, I felt my head begin to ache as if it were burning from the inside. The voice began to laugh, as if it took pleasure from my pain.

"No!" I yelled into the air, tossing my head back violently to try to clear away the image.

_That isn't me. You don't know me._ I pushed the accelerator to the floor in rage and pain, wanting so badly to escape. The '67 Chevy responded with a roar. It jumped forward, moving faster and faster. For about a mile the car careened down the straight stretch of interstate, the voice laughing away at me the entire time, filling my aching head with its thunderous noise.

And then, as quickly as it had started, the voice dissipated. It was as if a fan had been turned on in a fog filled room. My head was clear and it no longer ached. My foot released its pressure on the accelerator, and the Impala whined disapprovingly as it slowed down. I looked down and discovered that both hands cluing to the steering wheel for dear life. My knuckles were pure white and as I released my left hand and brought it into my lap, I could see light purple bruises forming in the shape of the bumpy grips.

I pulled over to the right and cut the engine, sitting for a moment. As the reality of what had just happened began to sink in, my body began to tremor. My hands shook in my lap and my knees began to bounce up and down. I even felt the corners of my mouth quiver, as if I was going to cry.

But it wasn't sadness I felt. It was disappointment with myself, for letting that happen. And anger at him, for having the nerve to say all those things to me. I balled my bruised palms into fists. _Azazel, you bastard._

I kicked the driver's side door with my left foot. Then, reaching across myself, I yanked on the door handle. The door hinges whined at being mistreated as I threw my full weight against the door, throwing it open. I stepped out and glared down at the road-side gravel beneath my boots. I spread my arms wide, in a taunting gesture.

"I'm here, damn it! Right here. You want me? You can have me. Just bring them back! Bring them all back!"

I stood there, staring at the ground for what felt like hours. When no one answered me, I stomped down hard with my left foot, feeling the tears return to sting my eyes. _Bastard demon!_ I spat on the dirt at my feet before leaning against the Impala and sliding down it's siding, my legs bending and letting me come to rest on the ground.

"You wanted me, why didn't you take me!" I screamed hoarsely from the ground. "Why her? She never did anything to you!"

I let my head fall limply forward and stared at my outstretched legs blankly. My mind traveling back to that night years ago.

_Three years ago..._

_

Dean had found me. I couldn't believe that he had. Not back then, at least. Looking back now, it's not much of a surprise. We were trained to hunt monsters for a living. A human would have been so much easier.****

I hadn't been happy to see him. In fact, I had just wanted him to go away.****

But he had dragged me away. To help him find dad.****

The whole time we were searching, I had nothing but nightmares. Nightmares about Jessica. Her death. No. Her _**murder**_. Every night for a week I saw her lifeless form as soon as I closed my eyes. Suspended from the ceiling of or bedroom, blood dripping from a gaping wound in her stomach. And every night for a week I called out to her; tried to stop it. And every night for a week she burst into flames as soon as I did anything.****

And for a week, I didn't say anything to Dean.****

Or to Jessica.****

I didn't think it meant anything. I didn't _**want**_ it to mean anything.****

So I ignored it.****

I called Jess daily and she always sounded so bright and cheery. Like she always was. I didn't see any reason to alarm her, especially if it all meant nothing. If it was all just some elaborate, cruel Freudian slip of my subconscious mind.****

But when my fruitless week with Dean was up and I returned home, the joke was clearly on me.****

I had thought Jess was just in the shower. So I had wandered into our bedroom and plopped down on the bed, closing my eyes and settling in to wait for her in the peace of our room.****

And then I had felt it.****

Something drip onto my face from the ceiling.****

And I had looked up into Jessica's terror filled eyes. She was suspended just as she had been in my dreams. With a real wound. Dripping real blood.****

And as I cried out in horror, the ceiling of our room burst into flames, engulfing Jessica's delicate, pale body and scorching her blonde hair to embers.****

I probably would have stayed there and burned with her, had Dean not been waiting outside (for some reason still unknown to me).****

So I returned to the life of a hunter, determined to catch Jess' murderer.****

_****

Sometime after that, I had learned that the yellow-eyed demon Azazel had killed her.**  
><strong>He was the same demon that had killed my mother.**  
><strong>The same demon who had selected myself and other children at birth for his evil purpose. The same demon who's unholy blood coursed through my veins.****

But we had killed him, Dean and I...

_

_How is he still doing this?_ I wondered, climbing back into the driver's seat, my mind clear now.

I slammed the door shut and turned the keys in the ignition. Listened to the engine hum for a moment before pulling back out onto the interstate and continuing on my way to Stanford.

"I don't care how he's doing it." I decided out loud, rolling down the window so I could hear the wind rush by. "I'm not going to let him take any more of me."

_I'm going to do what's right. I'm going to go on saving people.___

_Because __that__ is who I am._

I focused on the horizon as the state line came into view.

_**NOW LEAVING NEVADA**__**  
><strong>__**_**__****_

_**NOW ENTERING CALIFORNIA**__**  
><strong>__**WELCOME TO THE SUNSHINE STATE**_


	3. And Wound Up At Your Door

I sat in the parked Impala, staring at the large entrance to Stanford University. The students passed across the green, going to or coming from their various classes. Some were sitting on the edges of the large fountain near the steps, bent over their homework. They laughed and talked, jostling each other as they went. _They're all so happy. So oblivious._

Opening the door, I stepped out and onto the curb. Some of the students nearby turned to stare at me, and I smoothed the front of my blue suit, feeling a small wave of scrutiny wash over me. I quickly adjusted my red tie and walked toward the green as purposefully as possible, nodding a quick hello to the students I passed.

As I made my way across the green, I felt a twinge of regret in my heart. I had been forced to leave this behind. Stanford, law school, normalcy. _For what?_

I made my way past the fountain and up the steps, pausing with my hand on the door handle, remembering how I had felt when I walked through these doors for the first time.

_I'd been so hopeful then. Ready to get away from all the death and pain._

I shook my head slowly and pushed the door open. Immediately, I spotted the student services desk. The woman filing papers behind the desk looked quite young, possibly early thirties. Her hair was a light brown and fell about her shoulders in neatly pressed curls.

_"Her ass ain't bad either, eh Sammy?"_ I could imagine Dean whispering and elbowing me lightly. I smiled a small smile and made my way over to the desk.

"Hi," I called out to the woman, who was still preoccupied with her papers. She looked up and grinned warmly.

"What can I do for you?" She inquired, resting her elbows on the desk and folding her hands.

I produced a false I.D. from my pocket and flipped open the protective jacket, flashing the badge in front of her.

"Agent Cash, F.B.I. I'm here to speak to the dean about some mysterious deaths that are occurring at this institution and to speak with him about what exactly he is proposing we do to protect these innocent students." I placed the badge cover back in my pocket and ran a hand through my hair, waiting for her response.

"Oh dear. I'm sorry, but Mr. Anderson isn't in today." Her clear blue eyes looked up at me from behind dark, mascara-covered lashes. "I'm terribly sorry that you went to all this trouble."

Inwardly, I groaned. I was anxious to get started on this hunt as soon as possible, and without talking to the dean first, my research was greatly prohibited. Outwardly, however, I pasted on a smile for the receptionist.

"Oh no. It's no trouble at all. I'll simply get a room somewhere. He will be in tomorrow though?"

"Oh yes. He'll be in his office until six. Maybe later." The receptionist beamed up at me. "Should I take down a message?"

"No. No, it's fine. I'll be back tomorrow." I flashed her one last grin before turning on my heel and stalking out in discouragement.

I walked quickly back across the green, digging the Impala's keys out of my pocket as I went. I unlock the door and swung it open, sliding inside and plunking down on the seat with a soft thump. I slammed the door shut with one hand while turning the key in the ignition with the other.

Now I had to find somewhere to stay the night.

I sighed, turning the wheel and pulling away from the curb. _This day is lost, as far as research goes._ I checked my mirror before merging into the left lane.

_"Well, today's a lost cause. What'd you say we go get us a couple a' beers and talk to some pretty girls?"_ For the second time, I heard the words Dean would have said, had he been here. I smiled against my will and loosened my tie.

I settled back into the leather bench seat and simply drove, turning down streets for no particular reason. Every once in a while, I felt the urge to turn down a certain street, so I did. _Might as well re-familiarize myself with the area. Do something so this day isn't a __total__ waste._ I turned left down a street and happened to look up at the sign as I passed it.

_Treacher Way_

My heart stopped and I felt the heat drain from my fingers. I hit the brakes on the Impala and it screeched to a halt. I stared out the driver's side window at the tall buildings along the sidewalk.

About halfway down the block was a stately looking, red brick building. If you were simply passing by along the sidewalk, you probably wouldn't know what exactly it was. _Was it an office building? Rented spaces for specialty shops? A hair salon?_

It was none of these things.

It was an apartment building. One that I knew well.

My apartment had been in this building. The apartment that I had shared with Jessica. The apartment where she had met her end.

I gripped the steering wheel and stared at the entrance to the building, listening to the idle engine and wondering why I had ended up here.

_Memory association? Involuntary muscle memory?_ I wasn't even sure that one second even applied in this situation.

I stared at the building for another moment before pulling myself back to the situation at hand.

"I really need to find someplace to stay." I glanced out the passenger side window and caught a glimpse of wide alley way next to a small convenience store.

I deliberated a moment before removing my foot from the brake and urging the Impala forward. I turned into the alley, maneuvering the car gingerly. I didn't need anything scratching it.

I parked as far back in the alley as possible, parking the Chevy behind a large half-way that jutted out from the building next to the convenience store.

I cut the engine and hopped out.

Without consulting my brain, my feet moved forward, propelling me out of the alley. They stopped at the curb and my head turned to the left and right reflexively. My feet then continued on their strange crusade, carrying me across the street to the steps of the apartment building. They stopped for a moment and I glanced up at the large, glass double-doors. A single thought crossed my mind as my feet lifted themselves, one by one, by the steps.

_Home._


End file.
